


In Which Cas's Dream Guy is a Fucking Idiot

by levi_cas_tho



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Castiel Needs a Hug, Dean Being Dean, Dean Being an Idiot, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Needs A Hug, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Misunderstandings, Recreational Drug Use, Temporarily Unrequited Love, They Both Need Hugs Dammit, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levi_cas_tho/pseuds/levi_cas_tho
Summary: When Castiel randomly confesses his love for Dean- his best friend of seven years and well-renowned ladies' man- Dean panics. Not because he's straight or anything like that, but because he's kinda maybe been in love with Cas for a while now. Like, years actually.I mean, one would think Dean would be overjoyed at finding out Cas returns his affections, right? Wrong. Because Dean KNOWS he's not good enough for Cas, and for once he's not gonna let himself be selfish, dammit. He's not gonna get in in the way of Cas finding his dream guy.So he does what Dean Winchester does best and simply ignores the problem until he runs into a very wasted and drugged out Cas at one of Crowley's parties, and well, things just go downhill form there.A/N: I know this fic seems long but it actually just takes place over a couple of days. POV switches between Dean and Cas





	In Which Cas's Dream Guy is a Fucking Idiot

Castiel swayed slightly on his feet as he weaved through the crowd, not bothering to apologize when he bumped into elbows and chests. This was a high school party—no one apologizes here, and even if they did no one would be able to hear it over the thrumming music. He didn’t exactly have a specific destination in mind, but at this point he didn’t particularly care. He was here on an extremely important mission: to get so smashed that he couldn’t even remember his own fucking name. Or Dean.

And whoops, there goes his memory again. Apparently he wasn’t quite intoxicated enough yet, because he could still recall his last conversation with Dean in strikingly vivid detail, despite the fact that it had taken place over a week ago.

It had been Castiel’s fault really. He was the one who ruined their seven-year long friendship just by saying those three forbidden words to his remarkably straight male friend. I mean, really, what was he expecting? For Dean Winchester—renowned ladies’ man—to accept it, or better yet embrace it? Hilarious. Ridiculous. And so, so, utterly stupid.

Castiel wasn’t sure what had come over him, really. There was no huge or crucial moment that spurred him on. Dean had just been standing there, leaning against the lockers as Castiel packed his textbooks into his backpack, and it had just slipped out. Just like that.

Seven years, gone in an instant. Faster than you can say “I love you.”

He could still recall the exact shade of white Dean had turned in the second before he had dropped his books in shock. Castiel had panicked, practically begged Dean not to worry about it, just to forget it. But Dean had shakily said, “No, no Cas—It’s. I need some time. To like, you know, process this. I—I’ll talk to you in a few days, okay?”

And Cas had nodded, grateful, and said, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” And that was it.

Since that morning eight and a half days ago, Dean hadn’t said a word to him. On the fifth day, Castiel had gotten desperate. A few days meant three, tops. Not five. He tried to approach Dean in the hallway just after school, when Dean was still surrounded by his teammates. Dean had given him this—this _look,_ like he was trying to convey something important. But Castiel hadn’t been able to properly decipher it before Gordon had noticed him and sneered, “Oh look, the faggot decided to join us.”

Castiel had froze. Gordon had never—not once—dared to insult him when Dean was around. He knew better than that. They all knew better than that. Because Dean would always defend Cas, always step in to save him, fists flying and all. But this time, when Cas dared glance in Dean’s direction, he just looked away.

That was the exact moment Castiel’s heart broke. And when he had gazed at Dean desperately, pleadingly, Dean just shoved past his laughing friends and walked away. Just like that.

The endless bullying and snide comments from the team after that had been relentless, but not as relentless as the memories flashing through Castiel’s mind. _Dean grinning at him over the fresh baked apple pie Cas had prepared, just for him. Dean fretting over Castiel that one time he had managed to fall down the stairs and break his arm. Dean walking away. Dean walking away. Dean walking away._

By the time the calendar had flipped to the eighth day, Castiel had been desperate to make it all stop. Which is how he ended up at one of Crowley MacLeod’s infamous parties on a rainy Friday night, one cup of beer in his hand and three more in his stomach.

It wasn’t just Dean of course. No, if his issues with Dean had been his only problem, he might ( _might_ ) have been able to handle it. But throw in the bullying, the depression that Castiel had already had beforehand, _and_ a fresh bruise on his cheek (courtesy of good ole Uncle Zach), well—you had a recipe for disaster. To be honest, Castiel wasn’t even sure what he had done to warrant yet another fit of rage from Zachariah. Whatever it was, it must have been bad; Zach never left marks that couldn’t be covered up with clothing. Never. Not until tonight. At least Castiel didn’t have to worry about anyone asking him about the bruise. Dean was the only one who would have cared anyways. That final punch from Zachariah had been the last straw—the breaking moment for Castiel.

Castiel was snapped from his thoughts as he bumped straight into a solid warm wall. No, not a wall—a chest. He looked up to see none other than Crowley himself—the school’s infamous bad boy and host of this party. Said boy raised his eyebrows as his eyes caught on Castiel, but the look of surprise was soon replaced with a smirk.

“Ah Castiel, what brings you here? You never struck me as the wild type.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. Or at least, he attempted to. “Wanna get drunk,” he slurred.

Crowley chuckled at him. “Well, you seem to be doing a fine job of it.”

Cas frowned and shook his head, still swaying unsteadily. “No, no, it’s not enough. I need more. I need something stronger.”

The other boy’s eyes lit up with an idea, and he smoothly wrapped his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Something stronger, eh? I think I can help you out with that.” He pulled out a plastic bag from his coat pocket and let Castiel warily glance at the pills inside. “These work wonders, sweetheart. Can make you forget everything bad in the world, just like that.”

Castiel felt suspicious, but he also felt like he really wanted those pills. Because why not? Yeah, he had never done drugs before, but he had also never partied or drank before, either. There was a first time for everything, right? That’s what Dean always used to say.

The thought of Dean sent another shot of pain through his chest and he found himself reaching for the baggie. He pouted when Crowley pulled it away, stuffing it back into his pocket.

“No so fast,” he said smugly. “These aren’t free. You’re gonna have to convince me, sweetheart.” The look on Crowley’s face turned downright predatory.

Castiel gulped slightly, eyes flicking desperately from Crowley’s eyes to the pocket containing the pills. “What do you want?”

A sly grin spread across Crowley’s face as he leaned in closer to Cas, his arm still weighing heavily on Castiel’s shoulders. “Well,” he drawled out, “it’s no secret that you like cock, angel. So, since I’m feeling nice tonight, I’ll allow you the honor of sucking mine. That’s it. That’s all you need to do to get the pills, to make all your pain go away.”

Cas knew this was stupid, and that he’d regret this later, but right now he didn’t even care. He wanted to forget. He wanted the pain to go away. And it wasn’t like this would be his first time preforming oral sex or anything. Last year Castiel had dated the foreign exchange student, Balthazar, and he had gained more than enough experience during those few months before Balth returned to England. What was there to lose? Castiel nervously glanced up at Crowley, clutching the cup of beer in his hand harder as his palms started to sweat. He nodded.

The grin stretching across Crowley’s lips grew ever wider. “Excellent.” He moved in to capture Cas’s lips with his own, but Castiel pulled away slightly.

“Wait,” he slurred, “pills first.” Crowley rolled his eyes but complied, pulling out the pills again and dumping two into Castiel’s open palm. Castiel downed them with an unnecessary amount of alcohol, finishing off the rest of his cup. Within a few minutes, he could already start feeling the buzz. The bruise on his cheek no longer throbbed uncomfortably, and his thoughts were pleasantly blurred.  “Okay, I’m ready.”

Crowley grabbed Castiel’s hand and tugged it, causing Castiel to stumble forward as he followed Crowley up the stairs and down the hall. Likely to somewhere more private. Cas took in a deep breath as they reached what he assumed to be Crowley’s room, steeling himself. There was no going back now. He let out the breath in a long steady stream and stepped across the threshold.

 _This is worth it_ , he reminded himself. _This is worth forgetting Dean, and Zachariah, and all the rest of his fucked-up life. This is worth it._

He only hoped he would feel the same way in the morning.

*********

Dean sighed in relief as he successfully slipped into the upstairs hallway. Jesus Christ, Lisa was fucking relentless. He had been trying to escape her—and all the other girls, for that matter—for the whole fucking night.

He wasn’t exactly sure why, though. After all, he _had_ come here with the intention of getting laid. But somehow, it just didn’t feel right. He wanted to be at Cas’s place, sprawled out across the couch as they watched the latest Doctor Sexy episode. He wanted to be with Cas, period.

He missed the little guy. And it was his own damn fault that he did. He knew he was acting like a dick, and that he would have to face Castiel eventually, but it was easier just to be a fucking coward. Cas loved him. Cas _loved him_. That was fucking insane. Why would _Cas_ love _him?_

Cas deserved someone better, someone special, someone who didn’t act like such a pussy. He deserved someone that he could rely on, and he couldn’t rely on Dean. Dean panicked at the slightest form of genuine affection, Dean messed up constantly, Dean _sucked_ , and yet Cas loved him.

Dean sighed and slumped against the wall behind him. He would talk to Cas Monday. He could apologize and try to convince Cas that he should shift his affections to someone better, someone who deserved it.

Not that Dean didn’t want Castiel. He had always wanted Castiel. And sure, he had panicked a little (okay, a lot) when he first figured out his feelings, but that was years ago. He was used to it now, used to wanting Cas. And oh god, did he want Cas. More than anything. But he was even more used to not having his affections returned.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly why Dean had stayed away for this past week. He knew he didn’t have enough self-control not to jump Castiel, now that he knew Cas felt the same way. He couldn’t do that to Cas, he couldn’t distract him from finding someone better. He couldn’t distract Cas from finding his dream guy. He wouldn’t. Even if staying away killed him.

He was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of an obnoxiously loud moan coming from behind one of the closed doors. Dean rolled his eyes. At least someone was getting some action tonight.

Yet another noise sounded, followed by someone groaning “fuck, your mouth is so good.” And okay, wow, Dean definitely did _not_ need to hear this. Hell, he wasn’t even supposed to be up here. Crowley’s parties had always been strictly downstairs; Dean had just come up here to escape for a bit. Jeez, whoever had the nerve to come up here just to get laid must have a lot of balls.

Dean quickly stood up and made his way back down the stairs, resigning himself to the hell that would surely come when the girls caught sight of him again. Ugh. Who knows, he might end up forcing himself to get into bed with one of them by the end of the night, just for the hell of it. He needed to get his shit together, and booze and women were the best way to do that.

But he wasn’t quite ready to return to the crowd just yet. Instead he just leaned back against the stairway’s railing, trying to relax a bit. He glanced up when he heard the wood above him creak. Crowley waltzed down not even a moment later, a smug expression on his face. Ah, that made sense. Dean should have known.

Once Crowley was out of sight Dean returned his attention to the stairs, curious to see who Crowley had scored this time. They would probably come down in a couple minutes. Sure enough, not even a moment later the stairs creaked yet again. It was dark, so Dean couldn’t quite make out who it was yet, but whoever they were they had to be really fucking wasted if the way they were stumbling was anything to go by.

They tripped over their feet near the last few steps, and Dean instinctively rushed forward to catch them, resulting in him ending up with his arms wrapped around a warm body. Instead if regaining their balance, the person just slumped against Dean’s chest even more.

“Mmm,” a gravelly voice mumbled. “You smell like Dean.”

And wait, wait, _what the actual fuck_. Dean wrenched away slightly—much to the other person’s discontent—to get a better look at them because no, no, there was no way in hell this could possibly be Cas. Nuh-uh.

But an unmistakable pair of bright blue eyes proved otherwise. No. No, Dean must be drunk. That was it. Because Cas, Cas didn’t go to parties—the guy _hated_ parties. With a passion. And he definitely didn’t get drunk either. And oh dear god, Dean didn’t even want to think about what the fact that Cas had just came down after _Crowley_ , because no no no that was just _wrong_ and _impossible._

Dean felt like he was gonna be sick.

“Cas,” he said in a small voice, “is that you, buddy?” Stupid question. Obviously it was Cas.

Castiel just gazed up at him with a goofy smile on his face. “You—you sound like Dean too.” Then, for some unknown reason, he immediately burst into a fit of giggles.

_Giggles._

Dean squinted, trying to focus his eyes despite the lack of lighting, because no, surely Cas wasn’t _high_. Right? _Right_? Castiel Novak, the most law abiding and respectful person Dean had ever met, could not possibly be on _drugs._ But yep, of fucking course, Dean could just barely make out the fact that Cas’s pupils were blown wide.

“Cas, look at me, man, did you take something? Are you just drunk, or are you, like, high?”

_Please let Cas laugh and say “of course not, that’s absurd”. Please please please._

“Mmhmm,” Castiel hummed, nodding his head lazily.

Dean’s heart dropped and he tightened his grip on Cas’s arms, shaking him slightly. “On what, Cas? What did you take?” Cas didn’t smell like weed, so that couldn’t be it. Oh dear god, please don’t let it be something hard, like cocaine or heroin or some shit.

Cas just shrugged carelessly. “Dunno,” he said calmly.

“What the hell do you mean you ‘don’t know’?! Are you kidding me right now, Cas? How could you _not_ fucking know?” Castiel just shrugged again and Dean tried to force himself to calm down. He shouldn’t be angry at Cas. He should be really fucking angry at himself, dammit, but not Cas. Never Cas.

He took in a deep calming breath before trying again. “What you took, what did it look like? A powder? How did you take it?”

Castiel shook his head, nearly losing his balance again in the process. Dean held on to him tighter. “No, pills. Lil’ blue ones. Swallowed ‘em.”

Dean sighed and racked his brain, trying to dig up memories from those drug awareness classes they had been forced to attend freshman year. At the time he had just tuned the lecture out, but now he found himself wishing he hadn’t. Pills could be a lot of things. Opioids, amphetamines, MDMA, and who the hell knows what else.

 _Think, Winchester, think_. “Okay Cas, how many fingers am I holding up?” It was dark, but Cas should be able to tell with the small amount of lighting.

Castiel grinned. “Three,” he proclaimed proudly.

Shit. Dean was only holding up two. He pulled Cas closer to him again and Cas happily burrowed back into Dean’s hold. “Cas, I’m gonna have to take you to my car okay? We should probably get you out of here.”

Cas nodded blearily, not looking up from where his face was buried in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean shivered as Cas’s stubble dragged across his skin. _Dude, not the time for that shit._

Thank god Dean had been the one to find Cas. It would have been too easy for someone else to take advantage of him. Hell, in this state, Cas probably wouldn’t even have cared. He would have just calmly let anyone have their way with him. The thought made another wave a nausea rush through Dean’s body.

It was a hell of a struggle to get Cas out of the house and down the street to the Impala, but by some miracle he managed it. Castiel closed his eyes and sighed as he sunk into the leather seat, a content smile spreading its way across his face.

 _Adorable._ “You comfy?” Dean asked as he slid behind the wheel.

Cas nodded lazily, not opening his eyes. “Very,” he mumbled. “Smells like home.”

And damn if that didn’t do things to Dean’s heart. He shook his head slightly and focused his attention to starting the car and getting baby on the road.

It was nearly midnight, the full moon and the headlights of passing cars serving as the only sources of illumination. Silence stretched out between them. It might have been peaceful, had Dean not been so tense. “Do you, uh, need anything?” he asked anxiously.

“S’more beer,” Cas slurred in response. Jesus Christ, Cas _hated_ beer. The first time Dean had made him try it Cas had shot him a disgusted expression and vigorously rinsed his mouth out.

“Cas, man, what’s gotten into you?”

“Crowley’s dick,” he deadpanned. His eyes were still fucking closed.

Dean nearly swerved the car off the road because _dammit_ he had _really_ been trying not to think about that. He felt an unwarranted twinge of jealousy in his gut. It was his own damn fault that Cas wasn’t his, so he had absolutely no right to be jealous. He knew that.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and sighed. If he was gonna attempt to have this conversation with Cas, it would probably be safest to not have it while driving. Okay, the park was only like, a three-minute drive from this road. That should work. It was well lit, and at this time of night they’d have some privacy.

He glanced towards Cas and was surprised to find his eyes were now open and focused intently on Dean. Dean flushed slightly under the scrutiny and turned back to the road. _Damn Cas and his staring tendencies._

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded.

Cas gave him a wide, gummy smile. “You’re very cute,” he explained. Dean blushed harder, determined not to look at Cas again. Jesus Christ, he’d be surprised if he made it to the park without crashing. “Your eyes,” Cas continued, “are so beautiful. Like a forest. Or leaves. Or grass. They remind me of Dean.”

And okay, yeah, _that_ got a sideways look from Dean. Seriously? Was Cas really that stoned? “Cas, man, I _am_ Dean.”

That sent Castiel into another fit of laughter. Dean shot him an incredulous look, but it took Cas a while to recollect himself. “No you’re not,” he replied calmly. “Dean wouldn’t treat me this nicely. Not anymore, not after I ruined everything. You’re probably just a hallucination, but that’s okay. I don’t mind. This is a nice dream. Maybe I died, maybe this is heaven. That would be nice.”

Dean found it hard to breathe suddenly. Did Cas really think that? _Of course he does, dumbass, he just said so._ But why? How could he think, after all these years, that Dean didn’t care about him? Dean looked back on the past week and shame rushed through him. He had completely ignored Cas and his attempts to contact him. No explanation, no reassurance, no anything.

God, Dean wanted to punch himself.

They had somehow successfully made it to park alive, and Dean parked the Impala near one of the streetlights. Jeez, where did he even start? He should probably ask Cas if he was okay. Yeah, that sounded good.

But whatever he had been about to say was cut off when Cas turned to look at him. There was a fucking nasty ass _bruise_ on his right cheek. _What the fuck._ It had been so dark earlier that Dean hadn’t even noticed it, but he sure as fuck noticed it now. Dean felt anger and protectiveness bubbling up inside him, threatening to spill over. Keeping Cas safe was his _job,_ dammit, and he had managed to fail at even that.

“Cas,” he started, as calmly as possible, “what happened to your face?” Dean swore on his mother’s grave, if it had been Gordon or one of those dicks he was gonna pummel the shit out of them. Hell, what if it was _Crowley?_

Cas tilted in confusion before understanding dawned on his face. He subconsciously reached up to rub at the tender skin. “Oh,” he said, to drugged out to even think about lying. “I pissed off Zachariah.”

All the blood drained from Dean’s face. “ _What?_ He _hits_ you?” Dear god, he had always known Cas’s uncle was a dick, but this was a whole new level. How long has this even been going on? Cas had been living with his uncle since he was like, five. Ever since his parents died in that car accident.

Castiel lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Sometimes.” He was saying it like it was no big deal, like he was _used_ to it. Cas’s eyes suddenly widened and he gazed pleadingly at Dean. “Don’t tell Dean. Please.”

And ouch, that fucking hurt. “Why the hell not?”        

“Because,” he said desperately, “he’ll be angry. He’ll try to blame himself; I don’t need to burden him. He’ll tell someone, he’ll—” Cas cut off suddenly and frowned. “Oh. Nevermind. I forgot, he doesn’t care anymore.” He chuckled and leaned back in his seat, relaxing slightly. It looked like whatever he had taken was starting to tire him out, because he was becoming kinda sluggish.

“Cas…” Oh god, Dean didn’t even know what to say. Of course he still fucking cared! Fuck, he had really managed to fuck up this time. How could he even begin to fix this?

“I miss Dean,” Cas mumbled, sinking deeper into the leather seat. He was shaking slightly, and Dean suddenly realized that Cas was just wearing jeans and a thin t-shirt, nothing to protect him from the cold. Dean immediately shucked off his leather jacket and gently draped it across Cas, who hummed contently.

“Well, you shouldn’t miss him,” Dean scoffed. “The guy sounds like a real jackass.”

Castiel frowned, shooting Dean a withering stare. “Nonsense. Dean is amazing, and kind, and brave, and if you say anything mean about him again I’ll—I’ll…” Cas’s brows furrowed together as he tried to concentrate enough to come up with an appropriate threat.

Jesus Christ. Even when Dean treated Cas like a dick, Cas would _still_ jump to his defense. Dean _really_ didn’t deserve him. “Hey, Cas, it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Cas relaxed again, melting back into the seat. He pulled Dean’s jacket tighter against himself.

God, Cas was so perfect, and Dean was an absolute and utter dick to him.

“Don’t worry, Cas,” he mumbled, “I’m gonna fix this. I’ll take care of you, okay?”

Cas nodded and a hint of a smile appeared on his face. Dean _will_ fix this. He’ll fix everything. But first, he just needed to get Cas home.

\-------

By the time Dean pulled into the junkyard at Bobby’s house, Cas was sound asleep. His face was smushed against the window and his hand clutched Dean’s leather jacket. Dean smiled fondly at the sight. _God, I love him._

No. No time for that now. Dean didn’t deserve to have warm and fuzzy feelings while his best friend needed his help—especially when it was Dean’s fault Cas needed help in the first place. He quietly slipped out of the car, walking around to Cas’s side and gently opening the door. Cas started to fall forward, but Dean quickly caught him.

Phew. That was a close one.

“Cas? Cas, buddy, wake up. We’re here.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch. Dean sighed and hauled Cas into his arms, resolutely ignoring the fact that he, Dean Winchester, was carrying Castiel bridal style to his bed.

Life was full of surprises.

Getting up the creaky stairs was a challenge, to say the least. Cas wasn’t heavy or anything, but he wasn’t exactly light either. Thank god Bobby was out of town for the weekend, and Sammy was at that sleep over. This wouldn’t exactly be easy to explain.

 Dean gently deposited Castiel onto his bed and tugged off his shoes. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with taking Cas’s jeans off, so he figured those could stay on.  He rolled Cas into a position where he wouldn’t choke to death if he threw up—(Dean was skilled at this thanks to living with John for ten years)—and tucked him in, fretting over fluffing up the pillow and making Cas as comfy as possible before giving up. This was as good as it was gonna get.

Once that was done he went back downstairs to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some Tylenol to put on the bedside table for Cas in the morning. He snagged a trash bucket to put beside the bed too, just in case. Pleased with the set up, he spared a moment to gaze fondly at the peaceful look on Cas’s face. Cas was snoring softly—nothing close to the obnoxious snores Sammy would belt out. It was kinda cute, actually. Cas looked so content on Dean’s bed.

And shit, that brings up a good point. Where the hell is Dean gonna sleep? He could hunker down on the couch, or even on Sam’s bed, but he wanted to be here in case Cas needed something. Sleeping on the bed _with_ Cas was a definite no. Eventually Dean resigned himself to grabbing some blankets and pillows from the hall closet and quickly set up camp on the floor. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come to him.

It didn’t.

The floor was, well, hard. Absolute torture compared to his memory foam bed. No matter how much he moved around, he just couldn’t seem to get comfortable. But that wasn’t the real problem here. The thing is, Dean’s mind was still in ‘ _worrying about Cas’_ mode. Even though Cas was safe now, and right fucking beside him, he couldn’t turn his stupid brain off. Fuck.

After several moments of tossing and turning, Dean gave up and pushed his masculinity aside long enough to grab Cas’s hand, which was hanging over the side of the bed. It was kinda awkward, because he had to lift up his own arm slightly to reach it, but he made it work. And yes, it was lame as fuck, but Dean’s body needed constant physical reassurance that Cas was there. Within moments his eyes drifted closed, still holding Cas’s hand tight.

*******

Castiel awoke disoriented and on a bed that was far too soft to be his own. He also had a major fucking headache. He shot up into a sitting position and regretted it instantly as a wave of nausea rushed over him, barely sparing the time to grab the conveniently-placed trash-can before emptying the contents of his stomach into it.

What a wonderful way to start the day off.

Once he finished puking his guts out, he mustered up enough awareness for the events of last night to come rushing back to him.

He almost instantly wanted to throw up again.

The night was kind of a blur, but he could remember quite vividly having Crowley’s dick shoved down his throat. That dick, mind you, was _absolutely disgusting._ I mean, really, had the guy ever even _washed_ it before? Ugh.

Castiel resolutely shoved the memory aside before glancing around the room, still confused as to where he even was. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings because this was _Dean’s_ room. How on earth had he ended up here of all places? He desperately hoped he hadn’t managed to make a fool of himself in front of Dean over the course of the night, or worse—make Dean uncomfortable. To be honest, Castiel was quite surprised Dean had allowed him to stay here at all after what happened.

After hopelessly shifting through his memories to try and make sense of this situation, Castiel gave up and decided the best course of action was to head downstairs. Maybe if he was lucky, Dean wouldn’t even notice him leaving. That way he could escape with his dignity still somewhat intact. Granted, he would still be clueless as to what exactly had transpired the previous night, but as they say—ignorance is a bliss.

******

Dean was cursing his inability to get all the little lumps of powder in the pancake batter crushed when he heard the sound of creaking wood in the hallway, followed by a whispered curse.

Ah, Cas was awake. This was going to be interesting.

Dean dropped the whisk into the bowl and poked his head out of the entryway in the kitchen, only to find Cas frozen in front of the front door, hand already on the knob. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Mornin’, Cas. You uh, going somewhere?”

The muscles in Castiel’s back tensed briefly before he turned around, a sheepish expression on his face. His clothing from the night before was hopelessly rumpled, and his hair was a total loss. Dean purposefully avoided thinking about how part of the reason it was sticking up so wildly was likely from Crowley running his hands through it. “Dean,” Castiel began awkwardly, desperately avoiding eye contact. “I apologize for any inconveniences I may have caused you last night. I greatly appreciate your kindness, but I really must be going—Uncle Zachariah is likely worried sick—”

“Oh, cut the crap, Cas,” Dean interrupted. He pretended the formal way Cas was speaking to him didn’t hurt like a butter knife sawing through his heart.  Cas only talked that way to strangers, and Dean hoped to god that that’s not how Castiel thought of them now. “We both know your dick of an uncle is probably more pissed than worried—if he even cared enough to notice that you’re missing. Either way, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go back to that abusive piece of shit.”

Castiel’s eyes immediately snapped up to meet Dean’s. Dean watched as those eyes widened and panic flitted across his face. “I—what?” Castiel sputtered out. “What are you talking about, Dean? That’s absurd. I know you and Zachariah have your differences, and that he can be rather harsh sometimes, but I assure you he is far from abusive.”

Dean snorted. Castiel always had been a shitty liar. “Really, Cas?  ‘Cause that’s not what you told me last night.” Dean paused for a moment to let Castiel’s brain start for catch up before continuing. “Besides, the massive bruise on your cheek is kind of a dead giveaway.”

Castiel’s hand flew up to cheek and he blushed, looking down at his shoes. “I fell,” he said lamely. “That’s all.”

“Fell onto Zachariah’s fist, maybe,” Dean muttered. Cas shot him a sharp look but otherwise ignored the comment.

“As for anything I said last night—well, my mind wasn’t in the right place. Everything I said was likely utter nonsense. And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Dean sighed, but he knew better than to push. Lord knew how annoyed he had gotten when people used to do that about John. “Alright, we’ll drop it for now. But don’t think you’re off the hook. Now come on, I’m making pancakes. Chocolate chip—your favorite.”

Dean could _see_ Castiel’s hesitation. “Dean… I really should be going—”

“Bullshit. Now come on, I have to go keep the flies away from the batter.” He turned on his heel and strode back into the kitchen, praying to his lucky stars that Cas would follow and not make a run for it.

Apparently his lucky stars were taking pity on him today, because he heard Cas’s footsteps trailing behind him, albeit hesitantly.

“I—thank you,” Cas mumbled as he sat down at the rickety old dining table.

“No problem, Cas.”

They both remained silent as Dean worked the lumpy mixture into a smooth consistency. Castiel waited until Dean had just poured the third pancake onto the skillet before speaking.

“Dean…,” Castiel said in a small voice, “why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?”

Dean spared a glance towards Cas and felt his chest tighten as he took in his friend’s hunched shoulders. The guy looked as though he was hoping the ground would open him up and swallow him whole at any moment now. Dean sighed and placed the ladle he had been using to dish out the pancake batter back into the bowl before turning around to face Cas. He leaned back against the counter for a moment while he tried to figure out what to say.

He decided to start off simple. “Because you’re family.”

Castiel frowned a bit at that, gaze flitting up to meet Dean’s eyes before darting away again in shame. “Not anymore. Not after I ruined everything. I made you uncomfortable.”

Dean could tell Cas wanted to say more, so he cut him off before he had the chance. “I’m gonna stop you right there, Cas. First of all, it doesn’t matter what the hell you do—you will _always_ be family. I know I did a shit job of making you feel that way this week, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Capisce?”

Dean could tell Cas didn’t really believe that, but Castiel nodded anyways. “Yes, Dean. I capisce.”

“Good. Second of all, you didn’t ruin anything. And you didn’t make me uncomfortable. Or angry. Or disgusted. Or any of that other stupid shit you probably think I felt.”

Castiel’s gaze was steady now, piercing into Dean, a look of suspicious confusion on his face. Dean could smell the pancakes burning and he eagerly accepted the distraction. He needed another moment to figure out how to word things so that Cas wouldn’t hate him forever.

Castiel remained graciously silent while Dean spent an unnecessary amount of time flipping the pancakes. They were just on the burnt side of golden. Oh well.

“The truth was, Cas, that I was scared. I—I—Jesus Christ, I can’t have this conversation and make pancakes at the same time.” Dean ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Dear god, he didn’t think he could do this. He was a coward, for Christ’s sake. How the hell was he just supposed to up and admit the feelings that he had kept secret for the past couple of years?

“It’s okay, Dean. Take as much time as you need.” Cas’s voice was soothing, and Dean found himself relaxing slightly.

Dean bit his lip and nodded. He just needed a few more minutes, that was all. He hoped so at least, because whether he was ready or not, he already made up his mind that he was gonna tell Cas the truth. Castiel deserved that, at least. “Okay. Uh, how about you go brush your teeth and then come back and help me set the table while I finish off the pancakes?”

The corner of Castiel’s lip tugged up. “Is this your way of telling me my breath stinks?” he asked teasingly.

Dean grinned back at him. “Damn, you’re onto me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and turned to disappear upstairs, but not before Dean caught sight of the fond smile he had missed so much spreading across his friend’s face. This… this was good. Maybe things between them weren’t so broken after all.

\-----

By the time batter bowl was empty and the table was set, Dean had figured out a vague idea of what he wanted to say. He just hoped he would remember it. He tended to forget things when looking into Cas’s eyes.

The pancakes were piled up on a platter in front of them, steam rising from them as they cooled. The tension in the air had made a reappearance, but it wasn’t quite as suffocating as before. Castiel kept glancing at him nervously.

Dean took a deep breath. He had opted to stay standing, leaning back against the counter again. He knew he would get too fidgety if he had to do this sitting down. “Okay, here goes nothing. Cas… do you remember how last year, the day after Balthazar went back to England, we had a sleep over?”

Castiel’s eyebrows scrunched together—likely confused by where Dean was going with this—but he nodded anyways. “Yes, I vaguely recall that night. You used Balth leaving as an excuse for both of us to consume a gallon of ice cream, despite the fact that I wasn’t even upset about his departure.”

A faint smile spread across Dean’s face. “Yeah, that’s the night. Anyways, it was one in the morning, we had just finished the gallon, and we were both tired as fuck. For some reason I had the bright idea to ask you to describe your dream guy. You got this dopey, starry-eyed look on your face that I remember thinking was absolutely fucking ador—you know what? Never mind, doesn’t matter. The point is, you said they would be kind and gentle and caring, but also strong and funny and maybe a bit of a sarcastic asshole. Someone who could show you affection and accept the affection that you showed them. You—you said you wanted someone brave. Fearless. Selfless.”

Dean spared a glance toward Cas and found a look of surprised awe on his face, likely due to the fact that Dean remembered any of this. But really, how could Dean have forgotten it?

Dean averted his gaze and steeled himself. This is it. This is him, about to tell Cas his secret. “That was the moment I knew you could never love me back, Cas. Because I’m not any of those things—well, except for the sarcastic-asshole part. So that’s why, when you told me, you know, _that_ last week, I panicked. ‘Cause all I wanted to do was say it back, but I knew that would be selfish, because I can’t be the guy you’ve always dreamed of. I can’t be the guy you deserve.”

“I—I’m sorry, _what?_ ” Castiel choked out. “Love you _back_?”

A huff escaped Dean’s lips because really? _That’s_ the part Castiel was focused on? Not, you know, the important parts? “Well, yeah. I’ve kinda liked you for a long time. But that was totally _not_ the point of that whole speech.”

Castiel’s chair toppled over as he shot up and stalked menacingly towards Dean. “Dean Winchester, you idiotic _assbutt_ ,” Cas growled, gripping Dean by the collar of his shirt. The edge of the counter dug into Dean’s lower back as Cas pinned him against it.   _Holy fuck, this is hot._ “Who are you to decide what I do or do not deserve? Who are you to judge yourself so harshly? Dean, I was describing _you_ that night. _You_ are my dream guy.”

Dean gaped at Cas, mind reeling. That information itself was difficult to process on its own, but throw in Cas pressing his entire body against Dean’s? Fuck. Dean could hardly think straight. “I—what?” he said dumbly.

Castiel—his grip, his eyes, his posture—softened slightly.  “You are who I was picturing when I was describing my ideal partner, Dean,” he said, more gently this time. “It was you. It’s always been you.”

“Oh,” is all Dean managed to get out.

Castiel stared at him fondly before dropping his gaze down to Dean’s lips. Dean instinctively poked his tongue out to wet them and Cas’s eyes traced to movement hungrily. “Dean,” he murmured, voice rough. “May I kiss you?”

Not entirely trusting himself to be able to speak, Dean could only nod eagerly. Castiel’s entire face lit up with joy, as though he had just been given the best Christmas present in the world.

The kiss was soft at first, and far more gentle than Dean had been anticipating. It was sweet and intimate and full of affection and Dean couldn’t _stand it._ (Okay, maybe he kinda loved it, but he was _Dean Winchester_ for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t let people know he liked girly shit like this.) So instead he surged forward and kissed Castiel hard, grinding his hips forward in the process. A surprised moan escaped Cas’s lips, and Dean took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Castiel’s mouth.

By the time both of them had to pull back for air, Cas was a panting mess. Dean was probably in a somewhat similar state. Castiel’s chest heaved as he continued to gaze at Dean longingly, eyes flitting across Dean’s face as if trying to memorize it. Dean felt his lips quirking up. “Cas,” he said gently.

Castiel’s awe-filled eyes flitted up to meet his gaze. “Yes, Dean?” Dean couldn’t help but feel a little smug at how breathless the guy sounded.

“The pancakes are getting cold.”

Cas stared at him blankly for a moment before blushing and stepping back. “Oh. Right. The pancakes,” he said, nodding dazedly.

Dean grinned. “You forgot all about them, didn’t you?” he said teasingly.

Castiel scowled and halfheartedly hit Dean’s chest, but his glare was undermined by the blush still coloring his cheeks. “Shut up, assbutt. It’s not my fault you’re so good at kissing.”

A genuine laugh escaped Dean’s chest as he gently shoved Cas back towards his seat. “Oh, angel, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

\--------

 

As they ate, Dean filled Cas is on how he had ended up here—which Castiel had completely forgotten. Dean wasn’t exactly surprised, with how wasted the poor guy had been. Just thinking of Cas in that state sent a pang through Dean’s chest. He couldn’t help but wonder if Cas had even had any fun at all last night, or if he had just been desperately trying to drown his sorrows.

Dean opened his mouth to ask, but instead what slipped out was: “Really, Cas? _Crowley_?”

_Oh my fucking god, not the time for this man._

Cas frowned slightly and shrugged, shoveling a heaping forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “It’ws payment,” he said between chews. “For the pills.”

Dean’s eyes widened. Jesus Christ, did Cas really give his first ever blow job just to get his hands on some drugs?

Cas shot him a funny look, and Dean realized with no small amount of embarrassment that he had said that out loud. “What are you even talking about, Dean?”

Dean shrugged and shoved his pancakes around on his plate, trying desperately to avoid eye contact. “It’s just—I don’t know, that was like, your first sexual encounter and all that—”

A sharp laugh burst out of Castiel’s chest and Dean looked up in surprise.

“What?” he demanded. “What’s so funny?”

Castiel smiled and shook his head, looking at Dean as if he was the world’s biggest dumbass. “Dean, trust me, that was _not_ my first sexual encounter.”

Dean gaped at him and Castiel’s grin only widened. “I— _what_? When could you even have—what?”

“And you call _me_ the innocent one,” he joked. “Dean, I dated Balthazar for over five months. We spent nights at each other’s houses. Did you truly believe, knowing Balthazar, that we never fooled around?”

Dean immediately felt his face catch on fire. “Oh,” he said eloquently.

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Cas scoffed, still shaking his head fondly. “I swear Dean, you are an enigma.”

“It’s not my fault!” Dean protested. “You’re the one who never told me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Do you really want to hear about my sex life? Because believe me, I can spend days talking about how nice it was to have Balth’s big, fat coc—”

“Okay, okay, _enough,”_ Dean burst in. “You win, I get the point.”

A smug smirk spread across Castiel’s lips. “That’s what I thought,’ he said proudly.

Now it was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Shut up and eat your pancakes, you dick.”

Dean would be lying if he said his pants weren’t getting progressively tighter throughout this conversation. Yeah, he wasn’t all that pleased that other people have gotten to see Cas in a way he hadn’t, but just the thought of Cas on his knees—

Fuck. Now was really not the time for this shit.

“Aw, is somebody jealous?” Cas cooed.

Dean felt his face heating up again. “No comment,” he grunted, avoiding Cas’s gaze.

Castiel laughed softly. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I spent every moment wishing it was you instead.”

For whatever reason, that just made another pang go off in Dean’s chest. He had wished it had been him, too. He had spent the entirety of Cas’s and Balthazar’s relationship trying to remind himself that he had no right to be jealous since Cas could never want him, anyways. But Cas _did_ want him. Cas had pined over him for god knows how long. And then, once Cas had finally worked up the nerve to tell Dean—(something Dean himself would have never had the balls to do)—Dean hadn’t even spared him a response. He had just ignored it like a cowardly asshole.

Fuck. How the fuck would Castiel ever forgive him for that? No, scratch that, Cas _shouldn’t_ forgive him. He should take off and leave Dean in the dust. And he probably would, someday. Cas would inevitably realize that he deserved better than some idiot who struggled to pass basic school subjects. He would realize he should be with someone smart like him, someone who got top scores in freaking honors level classes, someone who would do more with their lives than become some low-wage mechanic. He would realize this and he would leave, and then Dean would be alone all over again, and—

“Dean.” Castiel’s gentle voice cut into Dean’s panicked thoughts. “What are you thinking about? What’s wrong?”

Dean could tell from the look on Cas’s face that he was concerned. Great, now Dean had gone and managed to worry Cas, too. As if Castiel didn’t have enough on his plate, Dean had to go and pile on his own shit. Dean shook his head and pulled on one of his most convincing smiles. “Nothin’, Cas. I’m just being stupid.”

Cas let out an exasperated sigh before pushing his chair back and standing up. _Great, he’s already tired of your shit. Not even half an hour into a relationship and he’s already about to leave you—_

Dean blinked in surprise when Cas, rather than heading towards the door, plopped down onto Dean’s lap instead. The wooden chair creaked with the added weight but otherwise didn’t protest. Dean stared dumbly into Cas’s eyes, intoxicated by the sensation of having _Castiel Novak_ sitting in his lap. “Uh, hi,” Dean said lamely, still not entirely sure what was going on.

Cas’s eyes crinkled in an affectionate smile. “Hello, Dean. Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or am I going to have to tickle you until I get it out of you?”

“I—What?” Dean sputtered. “I am _not_ ticklish—”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Oh really?” he said, moving his hands to Dean’s stomach, “then I guess it’s okay if I do this—”

Dean’s hands shot forward and captured Cas’s, effectively rendering them immobile. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides, there’s no way in hell this chair would last through that kinda torture. It would break with us on it, and then you’ll have to be the one to explain to Bobby why you were on my lap in the first place.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Fine, you win. But I’m serious, Dean. You need to tell me what’s going on in your head. If you have any… doubts or second thoughts about starting this with me, I need to know.”

Staring into Cas’s piercing gaze, Dean could feel his defenses start to crumble. He sighed and pulled Cas closer, hiding his face in Cas’s t-shirt. “It’s not that, Cas…” he mumbled into the fabric. “I just—”

Dean huffed out a breath and pulled back. He needed to man up and look Cas in his eyes when he said this shit. “I’m sorry for how I treated you this past week. I was a major asshole, and you didn’t deserve that. And I want to be able to promise you that it won’t happen again, but we both know how often I do stupid shit like that. So, I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid I’m gonna fuck up one day and hurt you somehow. And, I mean, I know you’re gonna leave me eventually either way, but I don’t want to _hurt_ you in the process.”

Castiel’s gaze softened and he lifted up his hands to cup Dean’s face. “Dean, do you think I’m smart?”

Dean blinked. “Of fucking course I think you’re smart, Cas. You’re a fucking genius.”

“Do you trust me? Do you think I am smart enough that you are able to trust my judgement?”

Dean squinted, not really sure where Cas was going with this. He decided just to go along with it for now. “I’d trust you with my life.”

Cas smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. “Then I need you to trust me enough to believe I’m making the right decision in choosing to be with you. I need you to believe I am smart enough to come to the conclusion that you, Dean Winchester, are the best person I have ever met. Can you do that for me?”

Dean blushed because fuck, he really should have seen that coming. He wanted to protest, but Cas’s eyes were so earnest, so pleading, that Dean folded under the pressure. “Okay, Cas. I can at least try.”

The smile that Cas gave him in return was so blinding that Dean needed a pair of fucking sunglasses.

And yeah, he knew Cas could leave eventually. He knew that. But for now, he decided just to take what he could get.

\-------

(Cas never did leave. He stuck by Dean’s side through the worst of it. And yes, they had their ups and downs, their fights and their near misses. And no, dating Dean didn’t magically cure all of Cas’s depression and issues, nor did dating Cas cure all of Dean’s. But they got through it, together. And that’s what matters.)

**_FIN._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Hey losers (I'm just kidding I love each and every one of you), come yell at me and/or send me prompts at my tumblr. My username is just levicastho. As always, thanks for reading, and good luck.


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